


we won't quit moving (till we get what we deserve)

by obstinatrix



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, First Time, M/M, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 22:10:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6212122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obstinatrix/pseuds/obstinatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody in the mutant community has heard of Erik Lehnsherr. He runs every programme going, gives angry speeches at every rally, and seems to disagree with Charles on practically every salient point when it comes to mutant issues. Unfortunately he's also devastatingly hot, so of course Charles has to ask him out anyway. Turns out they enjoy arguing and this...bleeds over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we won't quit moving (till we get what we deserve)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Red](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red/gifts).



> So, a billion years ago, back before the dawn of time, Red commissioned me to write him fic about transguy Erik "who is super proud of his junk." Being a commission, I wanted it to be as good as I could possibly get it, which of course left me paralysed with anxiety and resulted in me moving more slowly than a tectonic plate with the writing. However, several millennia later, here it is. :D :D :D I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!

The Lower East Side's Mutant Centre Outreach Programme had ostensibly been running since 2004, but few would disagree that Erik Lehnsherr's aggressive helmsmanship had transformed it from a nominal bureaucratic check in a box into the thriving and multifaceted community hub it was today. Everybody had heard about Erik Lehnsherr. He wasn't a native – he still had the last vestiges of a German accent; his frequently present mother bore the evidence of their heritage far more strongly. But Erik had a particular interest in outreach programmes of all kinds, being, as he put it during his flagship speech at the Winter Pride rally, "an angry, Jewish, mutant, immigrant queer. I'm Fox News's worst nightmare. So, naturally, I want to make sure I'm as visible as possible." 

It was the "queer" part that had caught Charles's attention, he had to admit, alongside that gloriously deviant smile and the killer cheekbones. He'd seen Erik from time to time, glimpsed him at a distance, but Charles wasn't as devoted to the Mutant Centre as Raven was, and this was the first time he'd seen Erik for more than a few seconds at once. He was tall and slender, with a swimmer's build, his limbs long and squarely made. Charles had marked him down first as one of those mutants determined not to let their invisible mutations thrust them under an umbrella of passing privilege – admirable, of course – but now he could see that Erik was invested in his otherness from rather more angles than just that one. 

Charles himself wasn't exactly an avenger, but he'd met more than a few, so that alone wasn't enough to intrigue him. It was just that Erik also happened to be the most devastatingly handsome man Charles had seen in some time; hearing that he might also fancy the occasional queer entanglement was more than a little distracting. When Erik finished speaking, indeed, it was the applause that tipped Charles off, rather than any culminating point Erik might have made. Well – the applause, and also the fact that Erik was now leaving the stage and disappearing from Charles's view, which seemed frankly unreasonable. 

"Stare a little harder, why don't you?" 

He could feel Raven's judgment rolling off her in waves. Charles raised his eyebrows innocently, pretending not to notice. "I beg your pardon?" 

"Erik," Raven said flatly. "I get it, he's a fine specimen of manhood and all if you're into that, but your eyes were practically out on stalks." 

Charles sniffed his dissent. "Maybe I was committing him to memory so I can find him later and follow up on some of his...points." 

An elaborate eyeroll. "Sure. My brother, the telepath with the eidetic memory, just had to make good and sure sure he'd recognise that face again." Raven's hand came down firmly on the back of Charles's shoulder. "Pro tip: he's single, and he pretty much only likes dick, from what I've seen. _Ask him out_." 

Which was how Charles came to be hovering awkwardly at Erik Lehnsherr's elbow an hour later at the Sunshine Bar, trying to catch the bartender's eye so he could order a drink for himself and "one for the gentleman." Charles didn't have many infallible moves, but that had always been one of them. 

It was at times like these, more than any other, that Charles particularly lamented being short. Erik didn't appear to even have noticed that Charles was there. More irritatingly still, he obviously had a telepath friend somewhere: Erik's mind was like a steel trap, resisting every nudge Charles sent, every imprecation to look down and register Charles's presence. Charles was clearly going to have to actually _speak_. 

" - and whatever the gentleman would like," Charles told the bartender, brushing his fingers against the curve of Erik's elbow before he could lose his nerve. 

At last, Erik looked. And God, did Charles take the opportunity to look back. He'd thought Erik's eyes blue, but from here, he could see that they were actually steel grey, gimlet-like in their intensity. Erik's eyelashes, when he blinked slowly at Charles, were long and soft. His voice was quite the converse. "Sorry – what?" 

Charles fought ineffectually against his rising blush. "I, er. I'd like to buy you a drink, if I may. Charles Xavier." 

He held out his hand. After a long pause that was probably shorter than it felt, Erik took it, and Charles exhaled in relief. 

"Lehnsherr. Erik. Well, I don't turn down free drinks, at least." Erik smiled, closed-mouthed, at the bartender. "Whisky sour, if you would." 

"Good choice," Charles said, and immediately wished he hadn't. 

"So glad you approve," Erik said dryly. "Your own tastes run rather sweeter, I see." 

He nodded towards the daiquiri the barman had just set down in front of Charles. Charles lifted one shoulder, half-apologetic. 

"I don't have a very refined palate, it seems." 

"How flattering for me." 

Charles glanced up sharply; this time, though, praise the holy of holies, there was the edge of a smile playing around the corners of Erik's mouth. 

It wasn't exactly the most promising of first interactions, but by the time Erik had agreed, with bad grace, to three dates with Charles – or at least, Charles optimistically assumed they were dates – he'd come to the conclusion that, where Erik was concerned, this counted as doing pretty well. The thing was, Erik actually liked fighting. Like, genuinely enjoyed sparring with a conversational opponent over a beer. Erik would pick through a conversation in search of some issue on which disagreement could be found, and then launch himself at it with abandon. It was nothing Charles had ever come across before, but oddly enough it didn't put him off in the least. Erik was – fascinating. His mental guards were so strong that Charles would have been kept guessing even if he could have been counted upon to behave like a normal human. As it was, every evening out was a white-knuckle ride. 

"I read your piece about mutant registration," Erik said on the third date, picking at his cheesecake. 

Charles's ears pricked up. He'd been inordinately fond of that piece. "Oh yes?" 

"It was wrong," Erik informed him, "from beginning to end." 

Charles felt the blood pick up immediately in his throat. Until now, he'd had pretty much the usual reaction to being told he was wrong, but Erik had done it so frequently, and followed it up with such rousing arguments, that now it was actually a little bit exciting. Not least because Erik followed up his comment with a brush of his shoe against Charles's under the table, which made Charles grin at once, ducking his head to hide his blush. 

Charles was going to be ruined for ordinary social interaction after Erik. He bloody loved it. In fact, he found he was having such a good time having regular altercations with Erik that he wasn't even overly disappointed about the fact that Lehnsherr was apparently a bit...traditional. Or, as Raven put it, "not a slut like you." 

Charles _was_ a slut, and owned it absolutely. But Erik could get him half-hard in an instant with a well-placed barb and a quirked eyebrow, and that only made Charles appreciate the wait in the knowledge of how explosive it would be when he finally got his hands under those tailored jeans (and maybe even his mind into that steel trap). When, at the end of their fourth date, Erik stretched out his legs languorously under the table and said lightly, "If you'd like to labour that point some more, I don't live far away," Charles had to strain not to project "YES" to the entire restaurant. 

Instead, he managed a prim nod which, he hoped, conveyed enthusiasm without betraying the actual, possibly alarming, level of delight he felt, and Erik smiled and nodded back. Outside, Charles wavered about where to put his hands before Erik took the decision from him with an air of mild exasperation by slipping his arm through Charles's, and they walked like that for the length of a couple of blocks, Erik's body warm in its overcoat against Charles's side. 

Even without his telepathy, Charles could tell when they were close because Erik, for the first time in Charles's experience, began apologising. 

"It's not a huge place, or anything," he said stiffly, as he hooked a ring of keys out of his pocket and set them hovering in the air in front of them, leading the way. "And it could probably do with some work, but we're getting to that. My mother moved out because negotiations came to a standstill over knick-knacks – I'm against, by the way – and since then –" 

"Erik." Despite himself, Charles was charmed to all hell. This slightly anxious Erik was new and distinctly adorable. The floating ring of keys was a nice touch. Charles nodded at it curiously. "Do you actually need those?" 

"No." That seemed to set Erik at his ease again; he smiled, obviously pleased with himself, as they came to a stop outside a lofty apartment building in dark brick. The outer door was dark green and evidently locked: Erik gestured between it and the keys and arched one perfect eyebrow. "Those are for you. Would you like to do the honours?" 

The metal was warm against Charles's fingers despite the coolness of the air, as if Erik had heated it through for him. How thoughtful. Charles pondered on other possible uses of that little trick as he unlocked the door with a flourish; before he'd even stepped inside, the keys were whipped back out of his hand and Erik was holding the door open for them both. 

"Ever the gentleman," Charles murmured, letting himself be ushered into the building and towards the elevator. 

The look on Erik's face was warm and dark, unreadable. He folded his arms behind his back and leaned against the elevator wall, looking self-possessed and secretive and smooth. "You have no idea," he said, eyes holding Charles's for a moment as the corner of his mouth tugged upward. 

A shiver skittered through Charles from head to foot. Perhaps being shut out of Erik's mind had its advantages after all, if it meant Charles could come home with him in the dark like this to learn his secrets. 

There was nothing at all remarkable about Erik's apartment. Perhaps it was a little sparse, minimalist, like the man himself, but Charles had expected that well enough. Beyond that, a cursory glance didn't suggest anything indicative of a serial-killing past or a secret Brony habit, so Charles didn't bother to pay the place any more mind. Out of habit, Charles found himself thinking rather loudly _don't bother with the coffee_ as Erik stripped off his coat and tossed it across the back of the couch. 

The overhead lights remained unlit, but Erik flicked on a table-lamp hands-free, as it were, and when he turned to face Charles in its glow, he was smiling again, one hand extended. 

"I'd offer you a drink," he said, "but I don't think a drink is what you're after." 

"You read my mind," Charles said faintly, and took Erik's hand. 

He'd half expected to be tugged down gently onto the edge of the couch; to have Erik cup his face and kiss him gently, a sweet first press of lips. He'd imagined it that way, even, but as soon as Erik touched him he couldn't remember why. Taking Charles's hand, it seemed, was just a nod to politeness; Charles had barely taken a breath before he was half in Erik's lap, one leg thrown across his and Erik's big hand firm at the base of his back. 

"Oh," Charles said, and immediately felt stupid, but Erik laughed and kissed his neck, a brush of lips to the bolt of his jaw, and all thoughts of embarrassment fled. 

"All right?" Erik's voice had fallen in pitch. This close, Charles could smell the clean notes of his aftershave and the warmth of his skin underneath. The kiss came again, the barest pressure, and possibly it was the thrill of its being _unexpected_ that made Charles shiver right to his gut. Whatever it was, he was damn sure he wanted more of it. 

"Hell, yes," Charles said, grasping for Erik's hair, and Erik's laughter was open-mouthed this time before finally, finally, he cupped the back of Charles's skull in one broad palm and brought their lips together. 

In the past, Charles's partners had often been entranced to the point of festishism by his telepathy and what it might mean in a sexual context, and Charles had, while sometimes mildly resentful, understood why: of course there was something thrilling in experiencing a touch twofold, in a partner who could anticipate somebody's every desire before they even registered it themselves. And yet now, with Erik's big hand cradling his head, Erik tonguing at his lips, Charles thought there was something stunning in this blindness, too. He hadn't expected the way Erik nipped at the swell of his lower lip, soothing the sore place after with his tongue; or the way Erik thumbed at the hinge of Charles's jaw until he opened wide and easy against Erik's mouth; and this way, moreover, he didn't _have_ to expect it. With Erik's mind firmly barred to him, every little shift and shiver was an unanticipated thrill. It was as if he were feeling Erik out in the dark. 

Erik's hands were on his shoulders, his spine, and Charles reciprocated helplessly, stripped of his usual information about what Erik would like and, strangely, enjoying the trial-and-error of finding out. A thumb at the juncture of Erik's neck and shoulder made him shiver, and Charles felt his gut flood hotly at the discovery. He retraced the spot with two fingers and Erik groaned into his mouth, lips going slack. 

"Here?" His own voice sounded rough in his ears as Charles pulled away. Erik's eyes were closed, his lips still parted as he nodded, and Charles took a moment to drink him in: his usually-pristine hair tousled where Charles's hands had been in it, and the long bared curve of his neck. Then he ducked his head, brushed his lips across the sensitive place his fingers had found, and Erik jolted beneath him, made a fist in Charles's hair like a vice. 

After that, it was on. The taste of Erik was strong, here, the salt of his skin and the warmth beneath, and Charles needed no encouragement to test for the response to a brush of his tongue, then a scrape of teeth. When he closed his lips and sucked, Erik cried out, hips lifting, and Charles felt the long thighs spreading involuntarily beneath him as Erik shivered, pulled him closer. 

"Ah," Charles said, unable to resist a smirk. "You like that, I see." 

" _Obviously_ ," said Erik, audibly ruffled. "So, _if_ you please –" 

The hand tightened in his hair, and Charles willingly let himself be guided back to his post, nipping at the smooth skin of Erik's perfect throat where the beginnings of a bruise had just begun to form. Erik was panting beneath him now, his whole body thrumming with tension, and Charles's hands began to wander despite himself, gripping at the meat of Erik's upper arms, the bunched muscle there, then sliding onto his flanks. Erik was slender at the waist like few men Charles had ever seen, and Charles's heart pounded at the thought of the shape he made: broad shoulders and narrow in the middle, just the suggestion of curves that promised a truly _fantastic_ arse. He flattened his palms and slid upward, wondering if Erik's nipples were as sensitive as his throat. The muscles of Erik's chest were firm and rounded against his palms, and Charles couldn't help grinding down in Erik's lap at the thought, burying a groan in Erik's throat. Fuck, he could stay here forever; he never wanted to stop, and –

"Charles –" 

Erik tugged on his hair; his left hand tightened around Charles's wrist, as if holding him off. Charles whimpered in protest, and Erik sighed, repeated himself more firmly: " _Charles_." 

Well. The tone said _stop_ even if the words didn't, and Charles might have been many things, but a cad wasn't one of them. Trying not to sigh audibly, Charles lifted his head and attempted an expression of polite enquiry. His fingers twitched against Erik's chest; he felt perhaps he ought to pull his hand away, but Erik was holding it firm. "Do you want to stop?" 

He braced himself for the nod. At least, if this was Erik's strange traditionalism kicking in, Charles could at least hope he'd be amenable to another date so they could continue this in the future. What he didn't expect was the conflicted look that flashed across Erik's face, and the subsequent sigh as he released Charles's hand. "No." 

Charles blinked, raising an eyebrow. "No?" 

"No, I –" Erik made an exasperated sound. "Look, I know you've noticed I've been keeping you out." He touched his temple with two fingers, briefly. "I've felt you...trying." 

Charles blushed a little. "You have very good control," he said tightly, not sure what this had to do with anything. 

Erik shrugged. "I was well taught. The point is, I have my reasons for keeping people out, but when it comes to this point –" he waved his hands vaguely to encapsulate their current situation – "it's easier if you just look." 

Charles hesitated. The opportunity of touching, finally, Erik's intriguing mind was certainly not an unappealing prospect, but he couldn't comprehend why Erik was offering it now, in the middle of...this. "Now?" 

Erik shot him a look. "No, next Tuesday. Of _course_ now, Charles. Look, just –" 

He closed his eyes, briefly. A shadow passed over his face and then, abruptly, Charles felt it: a cascade from Erik's mind as the walls fell, so sudden and overwhelming that Charles had to clutch at Erik's shoulders just to keep himself upright. The texture of Erik's thoughts, the colours of them, were so vibrant and distinctive that Charles had to breathe through his visceral appreciation before he could even begin to parse the content. But the images were flickering as if on a carousel, and Charles drew a deep breath and made himself focus, take in whatever it was Erik wanted, _needed_ him to know. 

The first thing he registered clearly was a little girl. Except – no – not a little girl; _Erik_ , ten years old and irritable; then Erik, a little older, a teenager with hair dyed dark and pulled across one eye, trying to reshape himself into a form that fit, and never quite getting it right. Erik, fumbling with a girl (not like him, a real girl) on a narrow little bed somewhere, and it still not quite fitting; and then Erik with his hair shorn off and a boy saying _I always thought you were a dyke_ as he fucked him. Erik, older, with his mother; the love he felt for her was palpable, pounding through Charles's body, and he knew immediately that there'd never been any issue there; then Erik as he was now, or almost: a sense of constriction around his chest, and then Charles could breathe again, but there were scars. So many incarnations of Erik, and yet every one of them fundamentally the same. 

Charles fell back, panting, and Erik smiled, re-establishing the walls in his mind with a level of skill Charles had rarely encountered in a non-telepath. He wasn't completely closed off now, as he'd been before, but he was shielded, and Charles could get his breath back. 

Erik raised one perfect eyebrow and shrugged, as if to say, _now you know_. "It's annoying having to tell it over and over again. I thought it might be easier with you." 

"I can understand that," Charles said. Everything looked hyper-colourised now, like an over-exposed picture. Erik's mouth was kiss-bitten, red. 

"I don't know if you're bisexual or – whatever. The point is, I don't want you to think that _I'm_ "bisexual" in that Oxford Dictionaries sense – like a plant." Erik's grey eyes cut to the side, and then back to meet Charles's head-on, defiant. "I've had top surgery; there are scars, and I'm fine with that. Apart from that I'm a man who happens to have a cunt, and I'm fine with that too." The grey eyes blazed. "Are you?" 

Charles swallowed. His throat felt pleasantly thick. "If I hadn't been devastatingly attracted to you before, I think hearing you say _cunt_ like that would have flipped the switch for me." 

"Charles, _honestly_." Erik was trying to be stern, but Charles had taken him by surprise, he could see; Erik's mouth was tugging up at the corners despite his best efforts. 

"No, _you_ 'honestly'." Charles swallowed, then brought up a hand, slowly, so that Erik could stop him if he wished, and laid it against Erik's throat. Erik let him, and Charles breathed out, rubbed the backs of his fingers against the red mark he'd left there before. "I don't mean to minimise the import of this for you: I know it _is_ important, even if it annoys you to have to talk about it. But to me, people are their minds; it's a factor of my mutation. Which isn't to say I'm not drawn to a beautiful body, but I'm sure it's the reason I'm – well, I prefer 'pansexual.'" Charles watched Erik's eyes, smoothed his fingers up into Erik's hair, and shivered when Erik's eyes drifted shut. "Is that okay?" 

"Come here," Erik said, low, and pulled Charles down by the back of the neck. 

This time, it was easier. A barrier had been lifted, in more ways than one, and Charles could feel it in the way Erik surged against him, biting at his mouth, hauling Charles forward with two hands splayed at the base of his spine. Belatedly, Charles recognised that there'd been space carefully left between them before, Erik keeping Charles away from the junction of his legs. He hadn't missed it, what with the way Erik had moaned under his mouth, but now as Erik's hips pushed up to meet his, grinding against the trapped bulge of Charles's cock, Charles was glad he'd been granted free rein. Erik was warm and firm under his hands, all shifting muscle. Charles's fingers drifted hopefully to the hem of his sweater, and his cock pulsed fiercely when Erik dropped both hands at once to grab sweater and shirt together, leaning back to pull both over his head in one motion. 

"God... " Charles felt himself flushing, saliva pooling wetly under his tongue. He wanted to touch Erik everywhere, get his hands on him, his mouth; he was all slender lines and wiry muscle, his nipples pebbled. Charles went for them instinctively, startling a hiss out of Erik before he half-laughed and leaned back, began yanking Charles's shirt out of his jeans. 

"Not yet. Get this off." 

"Gladly." Charles shot Erik a smile as he obliged, and when they came together again, he saw the wisdom of it. It was always better like this, skin-on-skin, feeling the heat of Erik's chest and the smoothness of his arms, the sweet friction of their nipples dragging against each other. Erik's hair was deliciously mussed, by this point, and Charles sunk his fingers into it, tugging Erik's head back to expose his throat. His earlobes, it turned out, were as sensitive as his neck: Erik arched his back and groaned when Charles sucked there, his hips churning helplessly against Charles's own. 

"All right, come on," Erik was saying, but if he was asking for more or for mercy, Charles couldn't tell. At any rate, _more_ was what Charles wanted to give, and so _more_ was what Erik got. Charles bit at his throat, licked a wet stripe across the jut of his collarbone, and when his mouth found a nipple, Erik shuddered bodily, grinding the flat of his pelvis against Charles's thigh. 

"Come on?" Charles teased, for sheer devilment. It was intoxicating, having this gorgeous creature under his hands, coming apart for him so easily. Charles wasn't above a little gloating. 

Erik tossed his head against the back of the sofa, panting for breath. His hand, firm on the muscle of Charles's thigh, slid two inches upward and pressed against Charles's cock, hard enough to make Charles whimper. "Yes, _come on_." Erik's eyes were rings of silver around wide pupils; he bit his lip, and Charles felt himself shiver everywhere. 

There wasn't going to be any pausing to get to Erik's bed, then. Not that Charles was really bothered about that now that Erik was unbuttoning Charles's jeans, slipping a hand inside. He brushed the tips of two fingers over Charles's length through his underwear and Charles groaned, chest hitching, his own hands going for Erik's buttons. He could feel the damp heat of him as soon as he got the zipper undone, and had to swallow hard against a rush of lust, _fuck_. The front of Erik's boxer briefs was flat, of course, where another man might have been straining against the seam, and Charles felt his breath catch at the thought of Erik hiding from him like this, his dick and his slick cunt tucked away between his thighs. Then Erik palmed at him, and Charles caught his breath and lurched forward, unable to resist. 

He found the slit in Erik's boxers easily enough, slipped two fingers inside to feel coarse hair and the fine skin of Erik's upper thigh. Beneath him, Erik's hips lifted, seeking, and Charles swallowed down the rush of want in his throat, inched his fingers lower. More hair, and then – he leaned back on Erik's thighs to give himself more room – and then, fuck, Erik's swollen slit, the hard nub of his cock bumping Charles's fingers as he nuzzled deeper, right to the wet hot core of him. 

"Charles –" Erik's eyes were shut tightly now, a little furrow between his brows, but he was spreading his thighs further, tilting his pelvis up, and so Charles didn't pause to second-guess himself. A moment later, thoughtlessly, he was scrambling off and onto his knees, and Erik lifted his ass at once to help when Charles grabbed at jeans and boxers together and dragged them down to his knees, and then lower. This close, Charles could smell him, the raw musky scent of Erik's wetness, glistening on his thighs and in the dark place between his legs. 

"What are you doing?" Erik breathed, although his hands were threading instinctively into Charles's hair and his hips were lifting and, frankly, Charles thought he knew fine and goddamn well. 

"Sucking your dick," Charles told him, crooking one arm under Erik's knee to spread him wider. 

" _Fuck_ ," Erik said, shifting helplessly, and Charles threw him a grin before he leaned in and set action to word. 

Erik was furnace-hot between his legs, his lips flushed and slick and his cock stiff and red at its crown. Charles felt almost spoiled for choice, and mildly guilty about it, given what Erik had said earlier, but the desire he felt wasn't fetishistic so much as an indirect and overwhelming craving for everything that Erik was, every part of him that was wet or hard or ready for Charles's mouth. He licked his lips, flicked his tongue experimentally over Erik's tip, and felt Erik jerk beneath him, hissing through his teeth. 

"You can – pull –" Erik suggested brokenly, then gave up and brought a hand down to demonstrate, flattened on his pubis to expose more of his dick. "And if you just – oh _fuck_ –" 

He must have been doing something right, Charles thought wickedly, as Erik fell back, thighs fallen open as Charles closed his mouth around Erik entirely. He was fiercely hard in Charles's mouth, the whole stiff length of him, and Charles sucked at him hard, tongued at the crown just to feel Erik's thighs spasm and his hands clench in Charles's hair. There was a beautiful novelty to being able to suck cock like this without getting an ache in one's jaw, and meanwhile the slow pulse of Erik's slick was coating Charles's chin, his lips. Part of Charles ached to dip his tongue into Erik's cunt, lap at the source of the slick, but something held him back. Erik was a guy, after all; Charles had been in his head; Charles knew it. He might not want… 

"Fingers," Erik panted, grasping for Charles's wrist, and Charles lifted his head, feeling dazed and overheated. 

"What?" 

" _Fingers_ ," Erik repeated, looking a little bit exasperated now, the sex flush pink and gorgeous all up his chest and throat. Then he took Charles's hand and pushed it lower, lifting his hips, and Charles groaned aloud as he registered Erik's meaning, crooking two fingers inside him easy as a knife into butter. 

"I didn't know if," Charles began breathlessly, "I mean I –" 

"If I'd want your fingers in my cunt while you sucked my dick?" 

Charles actually had to close his eyes at that. " _Jesus_." 

"Shame is pointless," Erik told him, and clenched, deliberately; Charles felt the spasm of his muscles fluttering around his fingers. "I like who I am. And I like –" he thumbed at Charles's nipple, twisting it a little – "being fucked. If you're amenable?" Erik's eyes flickered downward then, to where Charles's poor neglected dick was smearing precome helplessly all over the inside of his shorts. "I've got condoms, if you want to use your cock, although your fingers are good too." 

"Dear God," Charles said weakly, and Erik threw his head back and laughed, pulling Charles's fingers gently free and standing to shuck his jeans entirely. 

Naked, Erik was, Charles was pretty sure, the eighth wonder of the world. The long muscles pulled in his thighs as he stood, his body slim and upright as a lance. Charles could barely do more than stand there and allow himself to be manoeuvred as Erik shoved down his jeans and underwear, tugging Charles close by the waist to kiss his throat as Charles, dazed, kicked his way out of the tangle of fabric. 

"Now get on the couch," Erik whispered in his ear, and Charles shivered and obeyed. 

The condom must have been in Erik's jeans pocket; at any event, now it was in his hand, and Charles had to close his eyes and count his breaths as Erik surged towards him, dark-eyed and rangy, to take hold of Charles's cock by the base and roll the thing on. Charles bit his lip on a whimper, and Erik laughed softly above him as he swung one leg over Charles's thighs, legs spread. 

"I trust you're not about to come the moment I get going," Erik said archly. Charles wanted to reassure him, but Erik was even now rubbing the head of Charles's cock through the slick between his legs, and it was all Charles could do not to fuck up into that wet heat until there was nothing left of him. 

"I'll do my best," he said faintly, setting his hands on Erik's hips. 

Erik smiled, shifted, and then – God – the head of Charles's dick was inside him, and Charles barely registered Erik's pleased, "Good," before he sheathed Charles entirely. 

"Erik – _Jesus_ –" There were going to be bruises on Erik's hipbones by the time he was finished with Charles, Charles was sure. But Erik was so fucking gorgeous and so damn _sure_ , clenching firm and rhythmic around the shaft of Charles's cock, muscles in his thighs straining as he began to fuck himself, and Charles honestly couldn't find it in himself to be careful. There was no such thing as careful: there was just Erik, rocking down against him, hot and wet and firm, and the want throbbing through Charles everywhere, disbelieving and sharpened to a point. 

"Come on," Erik told him, teeth gritted, and Charles let his head fall back, hips lifting. Erik was taller than him even seated, and so it was easy to bury his face in Erik's chest, lick at his nipple, kiss his throat; easy, too, to let himself go, now he knew it was allowed. Erik was gasping above him, punched little sounds falling from his lips at the crest of every thrust, and when Charles let himself start fucking up into him properly, the pitch of the sound lifted, and when Charles ventured a glance, Erik's mouth had fallen open, his fingers digging into Charles's shoulders. 

"That's it," Charles found himself saying, breathless; his hand found its way between Erik's thighs and it was instinctive just to take hold of his dick between two fingers, begin jacking it that way and hear the way Erik's cries intensified. "That's it, please, you're so – _Erik_ –" 

"Charles," Erik gasped, and Charles could feel the muscles of his cunt rippling now, the heat of him almost unbearable. "Charles – _fuck –_ " 

The excellent shielding disintegrated almost entirely when he came. Charles was used to that, usually, but Erik was so good at it that he'd forgotten, and when Erik went still in his lap, Charles wasn't expecting the overwhelming crash of feeling like a tidal wave of pleasure. It started between his legs where Erik still gripped him tight, and then seemed to travel all through Erik's body in shudders until it spread into his, and Charles could feel himself coming inside Erik, _as_ Erik, clenching around himself. When he came to, Erik was still shaking, and Charles let himself slump into the corner of the couch, panting as he cradled Erik against himself, petting helplessly at his sweat-damp shoulders and his irredeemably mussed hair. 

The shape of the room came back to Charles in stages as the ringing died away in his ears. Eventually, Erik began to push himself upright, and Charles shifted, stretched, and drew in a breath. 

"Well," he said carefully, "This evening definitely ended better than I expected." 

Erik threw him a sidelong look. "Who said that was the end?" 

His voice was light, but there was a glint of steel in it that demanded obedience. It occurred to Charles that he might be doing a lot of obeying Erik's orders in future. This perhaps ought to have concerned him more, except that Erik was right there, all undressed and beautiful and with so much of his incredible mind left to be discovered, and Charles was only human (another point on which he and Erik disagreed, of course). 

"I'll accept that challenge," he told Erik, and smiled.


End file.
